


The Switch (Love is Blind)

by WriterOfFictions



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, tiny bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 00:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17838989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterOfFictions/pseuds/WriterOfFictions
Summary: A Model Behavior/Princess Switch AU: Harry Styles is a doppelganger for the new face of Gucci, runway model, Dean Rose. Harry is asked to pose as him one night for an event, because the actual Dean Rose is violently ill. This leads Harry to meeting his celeb crush, Global Superstar Louis Tomlinson. Sparks fly. But are any of them real?





	The Switch (Love is Blind)

**Author's Note:**

> I figured what is a fandom without a doppelganger AU? Here you go! Enjoy.

The moment Harry enters the small London flat he shares with his best mate Niall, he catches the familiar whiff of grilled chicken. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Harry sing songs from the entryway as he kicks off his boots and hangs his jacket after a long day at work. He’s about to ask if there’s any of that chicken left, but Niall knows him all too well. Beats him to it.

“Made you a plate, it’s wrapped up on the counter. Might need some heating up first.”

Harry takes the three steps from the entryway, down a tiny hallway that leads into their living space. It functions as the kitchen, the living room, and the dining area. The TV is against the far wall on a bay window. Niall is sprawled out on the couch opposite it, watching some sort of celebrity news show. Harry rolls his eyes. Focusses his sights on the dinner plate sat on the counter by the back wall. It’s hardly a kitchen, but it has the necessities. A counter, some cabinets, a stove, and a microwave. He picks up the plate and heats it up, setting the timer for one minute and thirty seconds.

While he waits he leans against the counter and faces the TV. Watches as a man in a black velvet suit with very white teeth and slicked back hair talks while a picture of singer/songwriter, and, in Harry’s humble opinion, the most attractive man on Earth, Louis Tomlinson appears.

“Tomlinson is said to be making an appearance at the Gucci “Love is Blind” show in London on Valentine’s Day, which is in just three weeks. Could make for an interesting evening as Gucci’s latest runway model, Dean Rose, has made it known via his Twitter, Robbie Williams was his favorite judge on The X Factor this season.”

A screenshot of a tweet from Dean replaces the picture of Louis, reads, “Louis is fine and all. Don’t get the hype though. Team Robbie all the way. #ForTheWin!” 

“Why do you watch this stuff?” Harry asks as the microwave beeps. He pulls his warmed meal out, grabs a fork and knife and joins Niall on the couch.

Niall sits up to make some room, shrugs, then laughs. “I dunno. Needed a change of pace from golf and the news. Would you rather I put one of them on?” He reaches for the remote on the coffee table.

Harry, mid chew, quickly shakes his head, and swallows. “This is fine. It’s great.”

Niall sits back against the couch with a snort. “And,” he raises a finger, “please, like I don’t know you perked up at seeing Louis Tomlinson on screen a moment ago.” He blinks his eyes exaggeratingly, mocking Harry.

Harry gives Niall a playful shove. Caught.

The man with the bright white teeth is still talking, but the focus is on the Gucci show, and runway model, Dean Rose, not Louis. Harry isn’t sure what makes this model so different from the rest. Thinks he looks like all the other ones, tall, pale, thin, with a short crop of chestnut brown hair. Harry does envy his suit, though. It’s tailored to his frame. White, with black floral print. Flared at the bottom. Dean’s got it paired with a black button up, and a black flower in place of a tie. He’s no Louis Tomlinson though. No bum to fill it out.

Niall’s comment pulls him from his thoughts. “This bloke kinda looks like you.”

Harry squints. “I mean, I guess, we’re both the tall, lanky type I s’pose.”

“If you cut your hair, you could be his doppleganger.”

Harry clutches at his long locks protectively. “Well, it’s a good thing I’d never do that.”

Niall snorts, “For the right price you would.”

Doubtful, Harry thinks.

At some point Niall grabs both of them a beer and brings up Harry’s birthday, which is in a few days. “Ready for the big two-five?”

Harry swallows a sip, “Don’t remind me.”

Niall pats him on the back, “Twenty-five’s not so bad mate. Plus, I’ll help supply you as many of those Enrique the Fifth’s you like so much at Bobby’s.”

Bobby’s, short for Bobby Fitzpatrick. Is a pub Harry quite literally stumbled upon with Niall a few years back. The two were proper smashed and somehow found themselves in West Hampstead. They were hungry and saw a window that advertised pizza. They entered the pub, which they now know as Bobby Fitzpatrick’s, and due to Harry’s intoxication level that night, he also wondered if they’d entered a different dimension. Perhaps Time Traveled by accident. The walls were covered in gaudy 70’s wallpaper. Lots of velvet, lace, and flairs worn by the people inside. Men with long hair and mustaches. It’s become a tradition of sorts to celebrate Harry’s birthday at Bobby’s. And, he does favor their smoky mezcal, pineapple, and absinthe flavored drink, called Enrique the Fifth. 

Harry, feeling slightly better with the prospect of free drinks as he turns a quarter century, says, “That definitely helps.”

 

His birthday, February first, falls on a Friday. No catering jobs scheduled for the weekend, which Harry thinks feels serendipitous. As if the universe is giving him permission to get wild and let loose for this milestone. Not that he needs it, mind. But he’ll take it.

He starts the day with a wake-up phone call from his mother, wishing her youngest a happy birthday. He talks to her while he readies himself for work. Tells her he loves her and misses her, and promises to visit up North soon.

Niall is still asleep when Harry slips into his boots and coat, and heads off to work. Lucky bastard, he thinks fondly. However, as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets, he finds a folded piece of paper inside the left one. Pulls it out and recognizes Niall’s neat script. Reads,

Happy Birthday Harry! See you tonight! -Niall

Harry smiles and mentally apologizes for his earlier thoughts. Niall’s a good friend. The best, really. The two met their freshman year at University, and got on instantly. They lived on the same floor in their dormitory. He recalls an eighteen year old Niall, with the tips of his hair bleached, disheveled plaid shirt and ripped jeans, sitting in the common room, strumming and singing along to Oasis’s “Wonderwall.” Harry happened to be walking by on his way to his room, when Niall, a complete stranger at the time, stopped singing, pointed his finger to Harry and called out, “I said maybe-” It was clear from the look in Niall’s eyes then, he wanted Harry to join in. A few girls were sat around Niall, swooning, he was definitely showing off. Who was Harry to let this guy down? He pointed back at him, sang the rest of the line, “You’re gonna be the one that saves me.” Niall continued strumming, nodding with a big smile, as if to say, “Yes!” Niall jumped back in and finished the song, while Harry continued on his way to his room, smiling to himself. Little did Harry know, that was only the beginning.

Work goes by without a hitch. Catering for a small, intimate affair, as Lucy referred to it earlier during her announcements prior to the event.

Lucy being the “Lucy” of Lucy’s Catering. The company Harry’s worked for approaching four years. The pay is good. It’s the kind of business he hopes to own and create for himself one day. He tells himself he’s putting in the time here, learning the ropes. Watching how Lucy runs things, so when he’s ready he can start his own.

He’s got his eyes set on eventually becoming Lucy’s Assistant. The position is currently held by a tall woman with a blonde pixie cut, named Sally. One day.

As he’s finishing up clearing a few tables, a woman with dark skin, hair done in braids that trail down her back with highlights of lavender purple joins him. “Feel like I haven’t seen you all afternoon- Happy Birthday!” 

Harry smiles, “Thanks Mel. Appreciate it. The help too.”  
“Not a problem,” Mel replies, “think of it as my birthday gift to you.” She takes the bag of trash from him and ties it up.

“You’re the best,” he calls to her as she walks away.

Without turning back she answers, “I know. See you at Bobby’s later!”

 

As Harry and Niall climb out of the cab in front of Bobby Fitspatrick’s, Harry has to take a moment to center himself. He’s not got the best balance when he’s sober, and, it only gets worse after some alcoholic beverages. Which, he’s admittedly already indulged in a few. But it’s his birthday! He’s twenty-five!

He drapes an arm over Niall’s shoulder, and sighs contentedly at the sight of the pub before them. “It’s my birthday.”

Niall wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, “It is. Let’s go order you an Enrique.”

They enter, and Harry glances up at the familiar stucco ceiling, then his eyes travel down the bright yellow and orange checkered walls, and thinks, home. He laughs a little at himself, it’s not true, but it’s not exactly false either.

In no time at all he’s got the drink Niall promised him in his hands, and begins sipping the deceptively strong beverage. The two move further inside, into another room. Harry recognizes the beat of the song being played. Starts singing along with Stevie Nicks’ voice on the track “Rhiannon.” 

He doesn’t notice the group of people in the room, until they all shout, “Happy Birthday Harry!” And, while, it isn’t necessarily a surprise party, he is both surprised and delighted to see all of the familiar faces smiling at him. A bunch of people from work, including Mel of course, his sister Gemma, and her boyfriend Michal. 

It’s only then he notices the gold and pastel pink balloons decorating the place. The large gold number 25 positioned near a table with a cake.

He extends his arms, wishing to hug them all. His drink sloshes a little as he does so. “Thank you! It’s so nice you’re all here.” He spots his sister and smiles wide, “Gems! Michal! You came!”

They laugh and allow him to wrap them in a hug. Gemma playfully ruffles his curls, “Can’t miss my baby brother turning a quarter of a century, now can I?”

Harry slaps his free hand to his forehead, “I’m old.”

“Watch out,” Gemma warns with a smile, “there’ll be grey’s next.”

Harry brings the hand holding his drink near his face, raises a finger to his lips, and nearly spills his drink entirely while he shushes her. Then, “It’s good to see you,” he says. A bit soppy. But it’s his birthday, and they did travel from Manchester to be here. And he loves them. “I love you. You too, Michal.”

The evening continues, as do the drinks. At one point, Harry and Mel stand on chairs and sing a rendition of Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” that has the room cheering.

At another point, someone declares it’s time for cake. Probably Niall. And Harry is ushered towards the table. Someone’s hands are holding his shoulders, guiding him there. It’s the first time he gets a look at the cake. It’s two circular layers high, soft pastel pink, with gold dusting on the top. In neat cursive script it reads, “Happy 25th Harry!” The candles are just the numbers two and five in gold. Harry thinks it’s the prettiest cake he’s ever seen. Everyone around him seems to start singing at the same time, and Harry thinks Niall’s right. Twenty five doesn’t seem so bad. The singing stops and he doesn’t realize it. Someone shouts, “Make a wish, Harry!” 

He closes his eyes and thinks of a wish. Blows out the candles. Everyone cheers.

Niall appears next to him and asks, “What did you wish for?”

Harry bops Niall on the nose, “If I tell you in won’t come true.”

After he’s eaten his slice of cake, Harry sets out to find the bathroom. Once he’s relieved himself, he walks across the restroom to wash his hands. Something catches the light in his hair, and he realizes he’s sporting a rhinestone tiara with his new age emblazoned in the center. He laughs to himself, has zero recollection of how it got there. Similarly, he also has a pastel pink sash across his chest with “It’s my Birthday!” written on it. It adds quite the pop of color to his black silk shirt, with black skinny jeans. His friends are the best. 

At the end of the night, long after Harry’s given several hugs to each of his friends, and kisses to their cheeks, and told them all how much he loves them, he finds himself waiting out in front of Bobby Fitzpatrick’s for the cab Niall’s called for them. He’s alone, standing on the curb, because Niall forgot his hat inside, when a man approaches him. 

He’s shorter than Harry. Petite. As he gets closer, Harry can see a cigarette hanging from his lips.  
The man fixes his fringe daintily and asks, “You got a light?” His voice is soft, a little scratchy. Harry clears his throat, suddenly wishes he did. “I don’t. Sorry.”

The man takes the cigarette and tucks it behind his ear. “No worries mate. ‘S a bad habit anyways.” He eyes Harry, giving him a curious once over, and a smile slowly forms on his face. “Happy Birthday.”  
Confusion must be written on Harry’s face, because the man gestures to Harry’s outfit. “You’re sparkling from your glitter boots to the tiara on your head.”

Harry laughs, biting down on a smile, “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

Their eyes meet, and the soft lighting from the pub allows Harry to see how blue the man’s eyes are. He blinks when he has a thought. This man looks so much like Louis Tomlinson. He laughs as soon as it pops in his head. How ridiculous!

The man across from him laughs in response, “What? Is there something on my face or summat?” He’s smiling at Harry. It’s a nice smile.

“No. Your face is perfect.” He slaps a hand to his own face, “I mean, I just had a thought is all.”

“Oh?” The man asks, intrigued.

“You just look like someone. You probably get that all the time, I’m sure.”

The man fixes his fringe again, smiling slyly, “Because I have a perfect face, you mean?”

Harry laughs. Hard. Harder than the comment warrants, probably. No, definitely. “Forget I said that, please.” He should be more embarrassed, but he’s drunk and a handsome man who looks a lot like Louis Tomlinson just wished him a happy birthday.

Not a moment later, a car pulls up, with someone opening the door and shouting, “Louis, there you are- get in!”

The man, named Louis apparently, looks over at Harry, with a knowing smile. He winks before he turns back to the people in the car, “Okay, all right. Settle down, I’m getting in.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Niall exits the pub, hat secure on his head, in time for Harry to grab his shoulder. Harry’s knees feel a little wobbly all of a sudden. 

Niall gives him a look of concern, “You alright mate?”

Harry swallows, nods. Tries to put words together. What he manages is, “Best birthday ever.”

 

When Harry arrives at work the following Monday, there’s an excitement in the air. He can feel it. Though he hasn’t a clue what it’s about. He ties his hair up in a bun atop his head. Tucks his white button up into the pair of black trousers, knows he’ll be scolded by the boss if he doesn’t. Then ties his apron around his waist, and joins the rest of Lucy’s Catering for the morning announcements.

There’s movement beside him, out of his peripherals he spots highlights of lavender purple in the hair of the woman who squeezes in beside him. 

“Hi-ya Mel,” he greets his friend, and then asks,“What’s all the excited murmuring about?”

She answers in a hushed knowing voice, “Word is we’re catering for the Gucci show next week.”

Harry’s eyes widen, he isn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly isn’t that. Before he can ask where she’s heard that from, a short, jolly woman, greying hairs framing her face, with the rest pulled back into a low bun, appears at the front of the room. 

“Good Morning,” Lucy says in a way that’s both gentle, and yet commanding enough to quiet the room. “I have a few announcements for today. I was told only moments ago we’re going to have to start about a half hour later that intended, as the Bridal Party is running late because the photographer was stuck in traffic. So we’ll make do by having the bar open, as well as some of you walking around to serve hors d'oeuvres while the guests arrive and wait. This also means I might need you a little later than intended.”

Some of them groan. Lucy makes a sympathetic face, “I will do my best to keep everything as originally scheduled. Would like to get you out of here on time, however I do not want to rush the kitchen or pressure the guests. If you cannot stay the extra time- which you will obviously get paid overtime for, please let me know.”

The promise of overtime pay soothes the crowd. Lucy claps her hands together, “And for the last bit of news you’ve all been chattering about. I was hoping for it to be a surprise,” she laughs to herself, “but oh well. Yes, we have been asked to cater for Gucci’s ‘Love is Blind,’ show next week!”

Harry joins the others around him, clapping at the announcement.

Lucy continues, eyes and smile bright, “The kitchen staff and I have been hard at work planning and prepping the menu these last few weeks, but we had to bite our tongues till a week out.” 

Her assistant, Sally, hands her a stack of papers. 

“Oh yes, thank you. Nearly forgot. In order to work the event next week, all of you must sign this contract. A representative from Gucci sent it over, it just says you won’t take any pictures, or ask for anyone’s autograph. Please take one, read it over, sign it and return it to me before the event.” Her voice is stern when she stresses, “If I don’t receive your signed contract, you won’t be able to work the event. Is that clear?”

It goes back to her gentler tone as she claps again, “Okay team, let’s give these Brides and their guests a delicious celebratory time!”

The reception goes smoothly, and Harry is more than happy to stay the extra time. The rent doesn’t pay itself. 

At the end of the night, after the Brides depart for their honeymoon, and the guests wave them off, it’s time to clean up, and then go home. Harry pockets the contract to give it a readthrough before signing it and returning it to Lucy. 

Mel eyes him incredulously, catching him in the act. “Seriously? You’re not just going to sign it and hand it in like the rest of us?”

Harry laughs, “Just want to make sure I’m not signing away my first born or something.”

“Fair enough. Well, let me know if I did.”

“Will do,” Harry nods.

When Harry finally arrives home, he’s exhausted. He strips his work clothes off and tosses them into his laundry basket. Climbing into bed, he has the faintest feeling he’s forgetting something…but when it doesn’t come to him, he replays the end of the night on his birthday. Something he’s done every night since. Standing outside Bobby’s and a man who Harry is quite certain was The Louis Tomlinson asked him for a light. He hasn’t told Niall about this, because Niall will probably just rib him and take the piss. He can hear Niall now, how can Harry be sure it was Louis? How many Enrique’s had Harry had? But Harry heard the people in the car call out for a Louis. And he’s pretty sure he’d recognize those eyes and that arse anywhere. With that, he falls asleep.

It isn’t until a few days later, when he does his laundry that he realizes his Big Mistake. Harry’s pulling the laundry from the washing machine to place it in the dryer, and notices clumps of damp paper. He lifts it up to inspect it, wondering what he’d forgotten to take out of his pockets. A sudden fear of dread swoops over him. The contract for Gucci.

“Shit.” He’s such an idiot. “Fuck.”

His first thought after that is to call Lucy. So he quickly shoves his laundry in the dryer, presses start, and pulls out his phone from his back pocket of his jeans. 

Lucy answers on the third ring, “Hello?” she sounds out of breath. 

Harry reminds himself to take a breath. “Hi Lucy, it’s Harry.”

“Oh hi sweetheart.” Warm recognition coloring her voice. He can hear the clanking of pots and pans in the background. “You know I was just thinking about you. Still haven’t gotten your signed contract for Thursday.”

Harry facepalms, grateful she can’t see him. “About that. That’s actually why I’m calling.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I took it home to read it and sign it, but forgot, and now it’s a wet crumpled blob from the washing machine.” He swallows, “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra I could sign?”

“How awful! Hold on let me have a look.”

He’s appreciative she didn’t laugh at his misfortune. There’s a long pause on the other end, and he takes this moment to mentally kick himself for not just signing it like everyone else that night. He can already see the knowing look in Mel’s eyes when he’ll tell her she was right.

An “Ah-ha!” breaks through his thoughts of self pity. He raises his eyebrows at the sound of it.

“You’re in luck Styles. I’ve got a spare.”

Relief washes over him. Thank God. “Oh my God. Thank you!”

“I know you’re not in today, but come on down to my office and pick it up anytime before four.”

Harry nods, “I’ll leave right now.” Then adds, “Thank you again Lucy!” before hanging up the phone and practically dashing out the door.

One long tube ride later, he’s crossing the street and entering the familiar building that houses Lucy’s Catering, wondering if the commute to it always feels this long. He enters through the front, through the two large white painted wooden doors leading him directly into the reception hall. He briskly makes his way past the kitchen, clearly in full swing of Gucci prep, and past the currently empty employee lounge in the back, the storage room, and finally stops in front of the small office belonging to Lucy. 

He peers through the window on the door and sees her hunched over her desk, writing something on a calendar. He knocks gently.

Lucy swivels in her chair and smiles when her eyes meet his. Waves him in. “Come on in Harry!”

He does as he’s told. Upon entering he spies the contract on the right corner of her desk.

She picks it up and hands it to him. “I believe you’re here for this.”

He takes it graciously, “Thank you so much. Again. I really appreciate it.” He’s about to step outside of the office but reconsiders, “Can I borrow a pen?”

She nods and offers him the one she’d been using only moments prior. “All yours.”

Harry thanks her and then flips to the page where he needs to sign. He does so, dates it, then hands both the pen and the contract back to her. “If I’ve just signed my first born away, at least it’ll have been for a good cause.”

The two share a laugh.

Before he leaves her office he thanks her one more time, and tells her he’ll see her on the fourteenth.

He steps out, closes the door behind him, and begins to head back the way he came. While walking past the kitchen, he pulls out his phone from his back pocket and sees he’s got a text from Gemma. He goes to unlock his phone when he walks right into someone exiting the kitchen. 

The two collide and Harry falls backward from the force of the sturdy presence he’d bumped into, letting out a small “oof.” Harry runs his hands through his hair. The man seems to have been able to catch himself before enduring a similar fate to Harry’s. 

He glances down at Harry with concerned brown eyes. “I’m so sorry mate, I didn’t see you.”

The man extends a hand, which Harry gratefully accepts. 

“‘S’fine,” Harry replies once he’s upright.

The man’s eyes widen with recognition now that they’re face to face. “I’m surprised to see you here. Not that you can’t be here, obviously. Just, it’s a surprise is all.” He’s rambling and Harry feels awful he can’t seem to place this man.

Harry furrows his brow. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

The man laughs. Harry’s relieved. 

“It’s Liam.” He offers his hand this time for Harry to shake. 

Harry does, and tries to wrack his brain for a Liam he should know. He keeps coming up empty.

Perhaps Liam can tell, because he adds, “No worries mate. We’ve only met the once, a month or so ago. ”

Harry still can’t place him. He feels terrible about it.

Liam’s not bothered. “Well it looks like they’ve got everything under control for Thursday. I’m sure you’re buzzing. First Gucci show! Exciting mate!” He places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives a small squeeze. “Big day.”

Liam reminds Harry of a puppy. Warm, friendly, and easily excitable. “Big day.” Harry echoes. And, he thinks it is. Especially for Lucy. 

Liam carries on, “First, the face of Gucci, next the face of fashion.” He wags a finger in Harry’s direction, “I’m tellin’ you mate.”

This is the moment when it hits Harry why he has no recollection of meeting this man. He’s about to explain as such when Liam’s phone rings. 

Liam looks at it and says, “Hold on, sorry, have to take this.”

Harry nods and waits. 

Liam gives a few “mmhmm’s” and then says, “I don’t know. Actually, you know what? I can ask him. He’s right here.” His brows furrow as the person on the opposite end of the line speaks. Then, “He can’t be on a trip to Italy, I’ve got him standing right in front of me.” Liam looks at Harry, and says into the phone, “I think I bloody know Dean Rose when I see him.”

Harry starts to blush. Can feel the heat creeping up his neck. He shakes his head as Liam starts to offer him the phone. “Erm, I’m actually not. Dean.”

Confused, Liam covers the speaker with his free hand. Whispers. “Sorry, I thought you said you weren’t Dean for a moment there.”

Harry runs his hand through his hair. Talking just as softly. “Erm, yeah. My name is Harry? Harry Styles?”

Liam nods, embarrassed. “Right. I’ll just- uh” he brings the phone back to his ear. “Sorry, it’s loud in here.” 

It isn’t.

“Can barely make out what you’re saying. Let me call you back in a few once I’ve left the caterer’s.” Then he quickly hangs up the phone. Looks back at Harry. “So… you’re not Dean Rose?”

Harry stuffs his hands in his back pockets and shakes his head. “Afraid not.”

“Harry Styles was it?”

Harry nods.

Liam laughs, his face having gone a shade of red. “Feeling like a bit of an arse at the moment. Honestly I thought you were Dean. It’s uncanny. I’m still not quite sure you’re not pulling me leg.”

This has Harry laughing, “I promise I’m not.”

“Well,” Liam says a little sheepishly, “I best go and call the boss. Sorry about that!” 

And then Liam is dashing out the front door, phone to his ear.

That night while Niall and Harry are playing Mario Kart on Niall’s Nintendo Switch, Harry brings up what happened earlier. But not until it’s near the end of their third lap. Harry uses a mushroom and speeds up to second place, trying to catch up to Niall who’s in first. Harry tosses a shell and hits Niall, then says, “While I was at Lucy’s this afternoon a guy who works for Gucci thought I was that model, Dean Rose, today.”

Niall glances over at Harry, who is still focused on the game. Harry passes him, as he is still recovering from the shell, and glides into first place.

“Wait, what?” Niall laughs, and then when he looks back at the screen, “You fucker.”

Harry crosses the finish line, stands up, gives a victory fist pump in the air, “It’s not about winning or losing, but, I won.”

Niall snorts. “You’re a wanker.”

Harry walks over to the fridge to get them both another beer, “Sorry, can’t hear you over my big win.”

When he returns with two opened bottles, handing one to Niall, Niall asks, “So a guy from Gucci really thought you were Dean Rose?”

Harry takes a pull from his beer, “Yeah.”

Niall tips his beer to Harry, “See? Told you. Doppleganger.”

 

Thursday arrives. Valentine’s Day. Gucci’s “Love is Blind” fashion show. It’s a big day.

Harry leaves for work earlier than usual. Doesn’t fancy being late. It might be fashionable for parties, but definitely not for work. And, unlike the last few catering events, tonight’s isn’t taking place at Lucy’s reception hall. Though the entirety of Lucy’s Catering staff working the Evening Reception tonight, has been requested to meet there. It’s where he’s heading now, because none of them have been told where the reception tonight is being held.

The show itself and its location aren’t a secret, but the location of the Evening Reception afterwards has not been disclosed to the public. Lucy herself wasn’t given the location until this morning. So she’s been instructed to gather the staff at her headquarters.

Harry enters and sees a dozen other staff have already arrived as well. Many of them milling about and waiting for further instruction. He makes his way to the staff room in the back and spots Mel sitting at a table by the window at the far side of the room. She’s using her camera on her phone as a mirror while she applies a bright shade of pink lipstick. He notices she’s had her hair done for the occasion. 

“I like the rainbow thing you’ve got happening.” He remarks as he approaches to join her at the table. 

Her hair sits at the top of her head in a neat bun. The colors of the rainbow woven into her braids, and making a beautiful display of art.

She looks up, smiles, and blows him a kiss, “Thanks.” 

The two exchange niceties, and then Mel mentions playfully, “Heard someone lost his contract and had to ask for a new one.”

Harry’s jaw drops, “How did you-”

Mel taps her nose, “I have my ways.”

All Harry can do is laugh, and tell her about his laundry mishap. Then a few moments later a disheveled looking Sally pops her head in and asks everyone to gather in the Reception Hall for Lucy’s announcements.

Lucy stands in front of them all, looking a little tired, a little anxious, but determined. It’s a big day for her, and though Harry knew that, now he can feel it. He thinks its really beginning to dawn on the rest of the staff as well. The air around them all is charged with something that wasn’t there when he arrived.

Lucy begins her speech, stressing how the utmost of professionalism must be adhered to this evening. She knows it won’t be an issue, but feels compelled to remind everyone. Also no pictures are to be taken of the location of the event, and especially no selfies taken with any of the celebrities. “We are to treat them as we would any other guests at any of our other functions.” She adds pointedly.

After a few more gentle reminders, she claps her hands, and a bright smile sweeps across her face. “Gucci has provided us transport, so, gather your things, and let’s put on a fabulous reception!”

Everyone claps, including Harry. Mel leans over and whispers in his ear, “It’s going to be so fun to watch you try to keep your cool around Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry laughs and gives her a playful shove. He hasn’t told her about his birthday. But allows a silly, satisfying thought to take up a tiny corner of his mind. How if it truly was Louis Tomlinson he saw that night, what if he remembers Harry? He entertains it for one singular moment, and then pushes it away. He has a job to do.

Just as Lucy mentioned, Gucci provided transport for them all. They exit out the back of the building to see four black vans in a line, already running, and waiting for them.

The vans pull around to the back entrance of what appears to be an abandoned warehouse. However, once they enter, it’s clear at least for tonight, it is neither abandoned, nor a warehouse. There’s glitz, there’s glamour, and then there’s Gucci. There are massive gold chandeliers dangling above them, dripping with what are most likely actual diamonds. The walls are painted a pristine white, with slabs of floor to ceiling mirror paneling intermittently throughout, causing the place to feel even larger than it is. There are bars at each corner and the bartenders from Lucy’s Catering are already familiarizing themselves with their station. The lighting is soft and warm, and the chandeliers sparkle, creating mini rainbows dancing around the room. 

Mel taps Harry’s chin, and he closes his mouth. 

“Oops.”

Mel just rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she says, “let's go find out what h’orderves we’re serving first.”

When a van of Security Guards arrive, Lucy’s Catering is told it’s go time. The Love is Blind Show, officially has ended, and people are now being shuttled here for the Evening Reception. Harry and the other staff are waiting with their covered trays at different locations around the room. 

It’s so quiet, Harry can hear the radio of the Security Guard next to him announce the first shuttle is pulling in. 

He straightens himself a little. Standing tall, tray balancing on one arm, the other behind his back, and then the doors open. People start to fill the room, and Lucy’s Catering spring to life. The collective sound of removing the covers from their trays muffled by the guests and their expensive heels on the marble flooring.

In no time at all, the Evening Reception kicks into full swing, music begins to play over the speakers, and Harry’s had to refill his tray of Tenderloin and Tomato Canapes, twice.

It’s a little overwhelming to see all these recognizable faces Harry knows from TV and the magazines. He keeps reminding himself to treat this as any other catering event. Weave in and around the crowd slowly, smile when eye contact is made, and offer the tray, stating the h’orderve. 

He’s doing well at this, until he spots Louis Tomlinson ten feet away from him. Looking picture perfect as usual. Harry thinks its a sin Louis hasn’t been asked to walk the runway, with how good clothes look on him, in combination with how well Louis moves. He’s sporting what otherwise would be a classic black suit, but on the sides has a trim of rainbow down the legs, as well as from the shoulders to his cuff. The suit is cut perfectly on his body. He’s smiling at whatever the person he’s talking with just said. His eyes crinkling, and teeth white. Harry’s staring. He realizes this a moment too late, when a flash of blue eyes meet his. 

Harry glances away, immediately. Feels the tip of his ears go red. He clears his throat though no one’s spoken to him. He does what is surely the most awkward about face a person has ever done in the history of about faces, and tries to focus on getting rid of the rest of the Tenderloin and Tomato Canapes. 

Except, he turns directly into Liam, and nearly spills what’s left of his tray.

Liam catches him this time, and Harry says, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” at the same time Liam says, “Harry! I’ve been looking for you.”

They share a laugh, though Liam’s seems strained. Before Harry knows what’s happening, Liam begins to usher Harry toward the restrooms, whispering as they go. 

“Harry, I need your help. This is bad. Really bad.”

Harry doesn’t understand, “What is?”

Instead of going into the restrooms, Liam brings them down a small hallway into a back room. Harry is beginning to wonder if he should fear for his life, but then they enter and he sees. Dean Rose is hunched over and hurling into a bucket. It’s not pretty.

“This.” Liam whispers. “Dean needs to be seen tonight. He needs to go out there and mingle. But-”

Dean heaves into the bucket, causing Harry to cover his mouth with his free hand.

“But he’s so sick,” Liam continues, “he barely made it through the show. And, when I say barely, I mean, I spent the show following him around with a bucket. Except for the runway of course.”

Harry nods, hand still covering his mouth. “Of course.”

A moment passes, the only sounds in the room coming from Dean retching. The smell starts to permeate and Harry is unsure of why he was brought in here. He glances over to Liam.

“Why were you looking for me?”

Liam nods to a woman standing across the room in front of a vanity, that Harry hadn’t even noticed was there. “I was hoping, maybe-”

Harry sees the woman is holding a pair of scissors.

“-maybe we could have you go in his place? I mean, it truly is uncanny how similar you look. No one would even know!”

Harry is pretty sure he whites out, because did Liam really just suggest they try to pass him off as Dean Rose? “That’s mad.” Is what he says, because it’s true. 

Liam shakes his head, “I know. But I think we could make it work. This is Jade. She’s the best, can work all kinds of magic. Please, Harry. Dean needs this.”

As if on cue, Dean heaves again.

Harry does feel a pang of sympathy for the model before him in that moment. And when he turns to Liam to tell him “I’m sorry, but there’s no way in hell,” he meets Liam’s big round eyes, and God he really does remind Harry of a puppy. And that is the only reason he finds himself saying, “Okay” instead.

Out of must what be supreme relief, Liam grabs Harry’s face and plants a kiss on the top of his head. “I owe you big time.”

Jade ushers Harry to sit in the chair in front of her. As Harry does so, Liam begins to coax Dean upright. Harry sits down and watches through the mirror as Liam places a long black wig on Dean’s head, and strips off his suit jacket, and ties an apron from Lucy’s Catering loosely around Dean’s waist. Liam pulls a pair of sunglasses out of his own suit jacket and gently puts them on Dean’s face. “Okay, hold onto the bucket with this hand,” Liam instructs, and takes Dean’s other hand to wrap it around his waist, “we’re going to get you home.”

Dean grips the bucket, and Liam, and the two make their way out of the room.

When the door closes behind them, it’s only Jade and Harry. And the nerves about what Harry has just agreed to finally set in when she drapes a salon cape around his neck.

As if on cue to ease the tension, Jade begins to comb through Harry’s hair with her fingers and says lightly, “God I hope they manage to make it through the kitchen without Dean hurling in there.”

Harry laughs, though it’s strained.

Jade leans down so Harry can see her in the mirror next to him, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. When I’m done even you’ll think your Dean Rose.”

He holds his breath as the scissors near his long locks of hair, and can’t watch as they make the first snip. He closes his eyes and releases the breath, another snip. And another. 

While Jade does his hair, she starts telling Harry stories about Dean. About where he grew up, his family, the first time he walked the runway. “Dean was seven. He lined up a dozen pages of colored paper on the floor in the living room in front of the television. Stole a pair of his mum’s red pumps, a beach hat, and a silk slip.” She chuckles as she continues, “It was his baby sister’s third birthday. Talk about stealing the show.” 

Harry laughs, wonders why she’s telling him this. When it hits him. It’s one thing to look like someone else, but Harry has to be convincing of more than just his physical appearance. He realizes she’s doing this so he can be believable when he opens his mouth to speak. Giving him some talking points. 

Jade shares with Harry a few other stories about Dean. They give Harry a sense of the kind of person he is. He’s confident, showy, bold, and it would seem a little conceited. Though he apparently makes up for it with charm. “Even though he might do multiple photo shoots in a day, he always remembers to send flowers and baked goods from a local bakery to each crew he’s worked with for each shoot.”

Harry’s brows widen. “That’s thoughtful.” He says. Jade nods. It makes Harry feel slightly better about this. About going out there and masquerading as Dean Rose.  
Jade dusts off Harry’s shoulders, and does one last comb through of his hair. “Wow, Liam wasn’t kidding. You really do look so much like him.”

Harry glances in the mirror and sees a face in front of him. He knows it’s his own, but, it’s almost like Dean Rose is sitting across from him. “Holy shit.” Harry says, reaching to touch his hair. It’s all gone. 

Jade knocks his hands away, “Nuh uh.” She scolds. “Your Dean Rose now. No touching.”

She pulls some make up out of a bag and quickly works her magic. It’s mostly painless, though whatever she’s done to his eyebrows hurt a little. 

“Let’s get you into your outfit, and out into the party!”

Jade pulls a white suit that flares at the bottom off of a hanger. There’s a silk pastel pink pussybow shirt under the jacket. She also brings over a pair of white chelsea boots.

He’s dressed in minutes, Jade fussing with the bow in front. The suit fits him perfectly. She takes a picture and shows him and Harry honestly can’t believe it’s actually him. 

“All right,” She says, a big smile across her face. “Go out there and charm the room. You’ve got this. I’ll be at one of the bars if you need me.”

She all but pushes him out of the room and closes the door behind them. She hastily makes her way to the closest bar, and Harry takes a deep breath. Then another. And prepares to enter the party as Dean Rose.

First thing he notices as he re-enters the party, is that everyone looks at him as he walks by. He feels sweat begin to form at his hairline, thinking surely everyone knows he’s an impostor. He smiles when he makes eye contact, and the people smile back. Many of the women blushing. He quickly realizes that no, they don’t think he’s an impostor, it’s the exact opposite. Before he was Harry Styles, nobody, working at Lucy’s Catering. Now, he’s Dean Rose, the new face of Gucci. The star of tonight’s “Love is Blind Show.” Of course everyone is looking at him. He runs his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit that is meant to self soothe, but doesn’t work because his hair is all but gone. 

He laughs to himself at the absurdity of it all, when a tall, slender woman with long jet black hair that matches her skin approaches him. “You were terrific out there tonight Dean. Congratulations!” She kisses his cheek and he thanks her. She looks like a runway model herself, but Harry doesn’t know her name. Fortunately, another woman, with the same height and stature of the woman in front of him joins them. Her red hair short and cropped, “Dean! Savannah! There you are my sweets!” She’s got a drink in her hand and her face looks a little flushed. 

“There you are!” Harry answers back.

Savannah, apparently, leans in to mumble in Harry’s ear, “Looks like Corrine’s enjoying herself.”

Harry nods. Uncomfortable, though he hopes it doesn’t show. He could use a drink himself.

He touches both women’s hands, “Savannah, Corrine, please excuse me for a moment.” And removes himself, to go find the nearest bar.

On his way, he meets a pair of blue eyes. He knows those eyes. They met earlier tonight, however briefly, when he was Harry. He’s Dean now, and tries to remember that. He’s famous, and meets famous people all the time. Louis Tomlinson, Harry’s celebrity crush, shouldn’t fluster The Dean Rose. Harry quickly looks away, in the direction of the bar, determined.

His co-worker Shawn is working behind the bar, and Harry momentarily panics he’ll be recognized. Shawn looks at him, expression bored. “What’ll it be?”

Relief washes over Harry as he says, “Gin and tonic please.” He reaches for his wallet, when someone adds, “Put it on my tab.”

Harry turns to his right to find Louis Tomlinson leaning against the bar beside him, beer in hand. His hair appears windswept despite the lack of a breeze. It’s clearly artfully done. His fringe delicately curling as it frames his face.

Louis has a playful smile on his lips. “Don’t believe we’ve formally met.”

Harry nods, “I don’t believe we have.”

Louis extends his hand, “Louis. Robbie sends his apologies for not making it tonight. I know he’s your favorite.”

Harry bites his lip, Louis is being cheeky. He can work with that. Emboldened Harry says while he shakes Louis’ hand, “Dean. I suppose you’ll have to do.” And finishes with a shrug. 

Louis laughs, and it’s a loud and wonderful sound. Harry relishes at being the cause of it.

Shawn places the drink on the bar, “Your gin and tonic, Sir.”

“Thank you- ” Harry nearly addresses him by name but stops himself.

He takes a sip and watches Louis watch him do so. Harry’s heart is pounding. “Is this a bribe?” He asks.

Louis smiles, “Is it working?”

This time it’s Harry who laughs. “We’ll see.”

Louis takes a sip of his beer, and after he swallows replies, “Fair enough.” 

There’s a beat of silence between them, and Harry wants to fill it. Wants to make Louis laugh again. But Louis beats him to it.

“You were amazing out there tonight, by the way.”

Even though Harry absolutely did not walk the runway, he finds himself blushing under the compliment, and the way Louis reaches over and gently touches Harry’s elbow. 

“Thanks,” He says, eyes glancing down to where the ghost of Louis’ touch now haunts his elbow, “means a lot.”

Louis places his beer on the table and leans his weight on one side, “My favorite outfit was the one before the finale.”

Harry, who has no idea what this outfit was, nods, and uses this time to take another sip of his drink. Luckily, Louis continues, “the pale blue suit with the flower pattern, and the red lace blindfold with the word ‘LOVED’ stitched in white. Was breathtaking. Truly.”

Harry blushes again, and has to remind himself, that Louis is complimenting Dean. “Well that’s all down to Gucci really.”

Louis raises his beer, “To Gucci.”

Harry taps his glass in cheers, and echoes Louis, “To Gucci.”

Two drinks later, much to Harry’s surprise, Louis and he are still finding things to talk about. Sure, people come over to congratulate Dean, and take his picture, but Louis never leaves his side. 

In fact, during drink three, Louis moves a little closer to Harry, while he talks about the latest season of The Great British Bake Off. Harry can’t say he minds. He can now catch the scent of Louis’ aftershave. It’s sharp, but also warm. Like ginger, and honey. It smells good. Harry finds himself leaning in to get another hint of it, but then catches himself. Louis looks like he is unaware of Harry’s actions, however, there’s an amused smile on his lips. 

“You know,” Harry starts conspiratorially, “I used to be a baker.” 

Louis’ eyes widen, “Really?”

Harry nods, “Yup. First job when I was sixteen. They used to let me slice the bread.”

Louis appears charmed. “That’s adorable.”

Harry laughs, “My hair would get extra curly from the heat and steam.”

Louis raises a brow. “Extra curly?” Then touches the tips of his fingers to the ends of Harry’s recently cropped hair. “I see no signs of curls here.”

Whoops. It takes all the strength Harry has not to lean into the touch. “Well, when my hair is longer it gets curly.” He admits.

Louis looks contemplative. Head tilted, as he returns his hand down by his side. “I’d like to see that.”

Harry feels a tap on his shoulder, he looks over to see Savannah beside him. “Hi Savannah,” he says confidently. Proud that he can remember anything considering Louis is still directly in front of him, and so close in proximity. “This is Louis. Louis, Savannah.”

“Hi,” She says giving Louis a nod, “May I borrow him for a moment? The photographer wants to get a group shot of all the models before last call.”

Louis immediately takes a step back, “Of course.”

“Thanks,” she says, taking Harry’s arm in hers and escorting them to where the other models are already congregating. Harry hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten. Corrine pulls his other arm and he’s sandwiched between the two as the photographer yells, “Everybody say ‘Gucci!’”

They all smile and do so, and several flashes are taken in quick succession. Afterwards, they all start giving each other hugs and cheek kisses, and Harry feels ready for the evening to end. Until that is, he sees Louis standing across the room, looking at him, waiting for him. On his way across the room he hears someone say “Harry,” and instinctively turns towards the sound of the voice. It’s Mel. Her eyes widen.

He motions to Louis to wait one moment, and quickly detours to where Mel is standing with a half empty tray of h’orderves. 

“I knew it.” She says, eyes still filled with disbelief. 

“Shh.” Harry warns, feeling utterly guilty all of a sudden.

Mel’s about to speak but he cuts her off gently, “It’s a long story. I promise I’ll give you every detail later. Just, please. Cover for me?”

She nods, because she’s the best. “You better.”

“I will.”

He tries to convey how absolutely grateful he is before he turns away to find Louis. She mouths “I know.” And he feels only half as guilty.

Louis smiles when Harry approaches, and says casually, “You hungry?”

Harry smiles, “I could eat.”

“Want to get out of here? I know a place.”

Louis calls a cab, and instead of leaving through the front where paparazzi are undoubtedly waiting, Louis brings him out back through the kitchen. Harry’s relieved.

“I had a really good time with you in there,” Louis confesses as they step outside.

It’s dark where they stand at the back of the warehouse. One dimly lit light hanging overhead, and flickering as if it’ll go out any moment.

Harry feels a smile forming on his face. “You sound- surprised.”

Louis shrugs with a laugh, “I kind of am. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t you, Curly.”

Harry feels warm despite the bitter temperature around them. “I had a good time too.”

The cab arrives and Louis makes his way over to it, Harry following suit. 

It’s then he starts to doubt whether this is a good idea. A voice in his head immediately answers this in not, in fact a good idea. He’s lucky to have masqueraded all evening as Dean Rose with only his best friend noticing. He’s pushing it going somewhere with Louis. Plus, the deal was just the party. What if they’re spotted while out? Also, he really doesn’t like lying to Louis. Wishes he could go as Harry instead of Dean Rose.

This has Harry slowing down while they make their way towards the cab. Louis notices Harry’s a few paces behind him, and grabs his hand. “C’mon Curly, pick it up.”

Even in the dark, Louis’ eyes are bright and lovely, and, who is Harry to deny Louis?

Louis gets in first, and all of Harry’s earlier doubts and worries completely dissipate as Louis Tomlinson’s perfect bum is directly in front of him. He shakes his head. Has to keep his wits about him. 

“C’mon, get in” Louis says patting the seat next to him.

Harry teases, remembering his birthday, “Okay, all right. Settle down, I’m getting in.”

Louis laughs, though his eyes are curious when Harry settles down and buckles his seat belt. Harry realizes his misstep and immediately changes the subject. So much for his wits. “So where are we going?”

Louis smiles, “You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later, the cab rounds a corner and Harry sees The Alice House, which is right up the road from Bobby Fitzpatrick’s. 

“This is one of my favorite haunts,” Louis explains. He turns to the cab driver and asks, “Could you drop us off ‘round the back please?”

The driver does as requested. Harry exits, followed by Louis, who pays for the ride, and extends his thanks. Louis leads them through the back door, which brings them to the kitchen. As they enter, Louis greets the chef behind the line, an older jolly man, who brightens.

“Louis! How wonderful to see you! I didn’t know you were coming, were we expecting you?” He seems worried.

Louis, however, is quick to ease his mind, “No, no,” he begins, waving his hand, “It was a spur of the moment thing.”

The chef shows visible signs of relief. “Okay, we’ll get a booth in the back ready for you and your-” he pauses for only the briefest of moments before supplying “guest.” 

“Thank you, Javier.” Louis replies, and it’s clear he means it.

He looks over at Harry, his cheeks flushing a little as he says, “I come here a lot. Can you tell?”

Harry smiles, “I think it’s nice.” He really, really does. What he doesn’t say is how nice it is that someone as famous as Louis is on a first name basis with the chef.

A waiter who can’t be older than eighteen comes over and says, “Your booth is ready, Tommo.”

“Thanks Greg.”

Harry’s still reeling from the interaction between Louis and Chef Javier, when the waiter calls Louis “Tommo.” And Louis knows his name too. Greg acts as if Louis is just a normal patron. Not Global Superstar Louis Tomlinson. It’s- a lot to take in.

On their way to the table, passing a violinist, and a considerable amount of tables with couples still dining despite the late hour, Louis asks Greg how his classes are going, and if he’s bringing home aces. Greg tells him he got a 92 percent on his latest exam and Louis gives him a high five. 

Once they’re seated, have their menus, and are alone in the back corner booth, Harry bites his lip and says, “That X Factor comment really bothered you, huh? All this to change my mind?” 

Louis laughs, and Harry thinks he could never tire of being responsible for making it happen.

Once Louis settles himself he asks, “And have you? Changed your mind?”

Harry pretends to consider it, and shakes his head, “Not yet.”

Louis feigns a look of being put out and Harry adds, “Close though.”

Greg comes back, takes their order, and disappears again. 

At some point, they get to talking about their families, and Louis tells Harry a story about his sister Lottie and how he knew she would be a makeup artist one day. “I was her first model. I remember one time when mum was making dinner downstairs, Lottie ‘borrowed’ some of mum’s makeup,” he adds the air quotes with his fingers to emphasize the word, “and because I’m a dutiful brother, I sat there while she colored me face with eyeshadow, and blush, and a horrid shade of mauve lipstick. I learned then it just wasn’t my color.”

Harry laughs and Louis appears to revel in it.

“What did your mum say when she saw it?”

Louis smiles wide, “She said, aw honey, mauve really isn’t your color. Then asked Lottie to go upstairs and fetch a pink one instead.”

“You’re mum sounds amazing.”

Louis’ face is soft when he says, “She is.”

Greg returns with the bottle of Chardonnay they ordered. Places the glasses down and fills them. He puts the bottle in an ice bucket and tells them their order will be out soon. Then leaves.

Picking up his glass, Harry realizes the few other patrons here are couples. It’s then he notices the candles on all the tables, including their own, lit to provide some ambience. And there are rose petals scattered around their candle. It hits him that it’s still Valentine’s Day. He chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” Louis asks, appearing humored as well.

He clears his throat, “Louis Tomlinson, I believe it’s still Valentine’s Day.”

Louis glances at the wine glass in his hand, to the one in Harry’s, to the candle, the petals, to the violinist playing in the background. For all intents and purposes it appears as if a light bulb has just turned on inside Louis’ head. “Well that would explain Javier’s panic earlier. I have stopped here randomly for a bite many times over. He’s never looked that worried. It makes sense now.”

Harry still hasn’t taken a sip of his wine yet, nor has Louis. Harry’s holding his, just slightly suspended in the air. “Well, I think there’s something you should probably ask me.”

Louis laughs, “Oh, is there now?” His eyes full of mirth, and lips pressed down on a smile.

Harry nods, “Mhmm.” He can feel his dimples on display. He can’t believe this is happening. Louis Tomlinson is going to ask him to be his Valentine. He’s sure of it. Even if it is only for a joke.

Louis places his wine glass back on the table, and reaches his hands across the table to hold Harry’s free hand. Clears his throat. 

“Dean Rose,” he starts, and the smile Harry felt beaming from his face only moments prior dims just a little, “will you please do me the honor, of being my Valentine?”

Harry purposefully takes a dramatic pause before declaring, “I will.” 

Louis releases Harry’s hand and his eyes crinkle as he gives a fist pump in the air. “He said yes!” He says to no one in particular. 

Harry bites down on a smile. He knows it’s not real. Knows Louis thinks he’s Dean Rose. But, even though he’s dressed as someone else, Harry’s being himself. The person’s company Louis has been enjoying all evening has been Harry’s, and so, he allows himself to have this.

“I think that deserves a cheers,” Louis says lifting his glass.

Harry gently taps his own to Louis as he agrees, “I think so. Cheers.”

They continue swapping stories, and eventually their food arrives. Harry and Louis each indulge in two more glasses of the Chardonnay throughout the meal.  
After they’ve managed to eat most of it, Greg comes over with their famous dark chocolate lava cake with blood orange and blackberry compote. “Courtesy of Chef Javier, on the house.” He says as he gently places it on the table and clears away their dinner plates. He leaves two spoons and walks away.

“I shouldn’t,” Harry says patting his stomach.

“Nor should I,” Louis says patting his hips.

Harry picks up a spoon, “But it would be rude not to.”

Louis nods. “It would.”

The two of them dig in and leave only a couple of bites of it left. Harry scoops up half and extends it to Louis across the table. “Just one more,” he says, spoon centimetres from Louis’ lips. Louis takes his spoon and picks up the other half and lifts it to Harry’s lips.

“Only if you finish this.”

Harry’s stomach says no, but he finds himself leaning forward the last bit of distance between his mouth and the spoon. Lips parting and taking the spoon into his mouth. Sucking the dessert clean off of it. He keeps eye contact with Louis and watches his pupils double in size.

Harry chews and swallows. Says smugly, “Your turn.”

Louis takes the spoon from Harry’s hands and quickly eats the last bite.

The wine is finally catching up to him, and Harry excuses himself to use the restroom. He realizes he’s a little drunker than he thought once he’s standing and trying to walk. That’s what he gets for sitting and drinking. It’s always a little hard to tell exactly how drunk you are when you’ve been sitting for a while. He makes it to the bathroom and relieves himself. While he’s washing his hands, the bathroom door opens. It’s Louis. 

“Hi,” He says to Harry.

There’s a look on Louis’ face Harry hasn’t seen before. Louis glances around the loo and takes a few steps forward towards Harry. He brackets him against the sink and kisses him. His lips soft and insistent. Like this is something he’s been thinking about. Harry lets out a noise of surprise but catches on quickly. Allowing their lips to move together. Louis’ hands grab hold of Harry’s hips and their bodies come flush together. It feels good. Really good. Louis’ body is sturdy and strong, and Harry’s arms wrap around Louis’ neck, but only briefly. He feels greedy, wants to touch every part of Louis. His hands now trailing down to Louis’ shoulders. He feels breathless with it. Until Louis breaks the kiss and breathes into Harry’s mouth, “Fuck yes, Dean. Been thinking about this all night.”

It’s like a bucket of water is thrown in his face. Harry opens his eyes, pulls away, and Louis chases him. When Louis opens his eyes, he looks confused. The two of them are breathing hard, and clearly both affected by the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologizes.

Louis brings a hand to his hair and fixes his fringe. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I must have read this wrong.” He uses the other hand to wave between the two of them.

Harry shakes his head. Closes his eyes briefly. Fuck. Oh god he’s fucked this up. “No.” He starts determinedly. “No, you didn’t read this wrong.” He mirrors Louis’ previous motion between the two of them. “I’ve been thinking about this too.”

Louis doesn’t seem to understand, and well, Harry supposes that’s fair as he isn’t really making much sense.

“It’s just,” he doesn’t know what to say. He knows what he should say, but he’s afraid if he says he’s not Dean Rose, Louis won’t hear him out and he desperately doesn’t want that to happen. “It’s just, I’m, you know, we’re both, a little drunk,” he settles on. “We’ve been drinking all night, and, it’s Valentine’s Day, and I just want to make sure it’s not just like the heat of the moment. You know?”

Louis takes a breath, then nods, “You’re right.”

Harry’s relieved.

“Oh god. This is so embarrassing.” Louis laughs a little self deprecatingly.

“No, no. Please.” He takes Louis’ hand in his. “I promise it’s not.”

Louis won’t meet Harry’s eyes. Harry ducks down to find them. “Honest.” He tells him, and means it.

“It’s just,” Louis sighs, then laughs again. “I guess, I had it in my head you were some stuck up model asshole. And all evening you’ve been nothing but kind, and funny, and- sweet.”

Harry practically melts where he stands. “You’re not so bad yourself, either.”

Louis looks up, despite the red tinge of his cheeks, a playful grin forms as he asks, “Enough to be your favorite X Factor judge?”

Harry nods, then leans forward and plants a kiss on Louis’ cheek. “I completely understand the hype.”

Louis snorts.

“In fact,” Harry continues, “I think there should be more hype. There’s not enough.”

At this, Louis scoffs, and points his finger into Harry’s chest. “Don’t overdo it, Curly.”

They exit the restroom and Louis brings them back towards the kitchen where they entered. Louis informing him he paid already. He cuts Harry off before he can say a single word about it. “You’re my Valentine. My treat.”

Louis thanks Javier, and Harry does too. 

Once they’re outside, and Louis calls them a cab, he turns to Harry and asks, “You got a light?”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t. Sorry.”

Louis shrugs. “No worries. ‘S a bad habit.”

Harry wants to blame the wine, but he knows he feels deja vu. He remembers standing outside, just down this very street, getting asked this very question by the very same man before him. It was dark out, save for a single street lamp. The stars were out just as they are now. Louis was dressed much more casually than he is now. Still just as handsome though. Harry smiles, and when Louis glances up at him, he realizes he’s been staring.

“What? Is there something on my face or summat?” He’s smiling at Harry now, too. Harry wonders if Louis is feeling the same thing Harry is.

“No.” Harry say without thinking, “Your face is perfect.” 

Harry knows his time with Louis is running out. It hits him as they stand there. He knows he’ll never see Louis again. Not in person anyways. There’s a part of him that wants Louis to know the truth. To know he isn’t Dean. He’s Harry. The birthday boy he saw standing outside of Bobby Fitzpatrick’s with the glitter boots and tiara. 

“Louis,” he starts, and Louis is looking at him like he’s trying to figure something out, but can’t put his finger on it. “I’m not-”

Just then the cab pulls up. 

He pauses. 

Louis raises a brow, confusion on his face. “You’re not-what?” He encourages, voice kind.

Harry sighs, he can’t do it. Can’t bear the thought of ruining this evening. He opens the cab door for Louis and says, “I think I’m going to take the tube home.” 

Louis doesn’t look any less confused but says, “Okay.”

“I had a great time tonight,” Harry assures him. It’s all he can do.

“Me too, Curly.” Louis says, and gives Harry a smile before he gets settled into the cab. 

Harry can’t help himself, if this is the last moment he’ll ever have with Louis, he wants just one last kiss. He leans down and softly presses his lips to Louis’. It’s chaste and perfect and when he stands upright he says, “Goodnight Louis.” Then gently closes the cab door, and watches as it and Louis disappears off into the night.

Harry’s heart is beating hard in his chest. “Fuck.” 

 

Two days later, during break at work, Mel joins him and drops a copy of the Daily Mail on the table. A picture of Harry and Louis flirting at the bar during the Reception for Love is Blind on the front page. The headline reads “Did Tomlinson get a Rose for Valentine’s Day?”

Harry scoffs, “Terrible headline.”

Mel laughs, “Thought you’d want the picture.”

“Thanks.” He says. “I definitely do.”

The day after the event, Harry called up Mel and invited her over to tell both her and Niall all about what happened. Spared them no detail, up until the very end of the evening, when Harry nearly gave himself away.

Since then Mel has been sending Harry every picture of the two of them each tabloid has printed. Harry would be lying if he said he hadn’t been keeping them all in a box under his bed. 

When he gets home that night, Niall as usual is sitting on the sofa, eating dinner, with the man with very white teeth and slicked back hair on the television. Giving his celebrity gossip recap.

Harry enters just in time to hear, “Tomlinson gets a Rose for Valentine’s Day. Dean Rose that is! The two were seen cozying up to one another during Gucci’s Love is Blind Reception after the show. Perhaps Dean’s had a change of heart on who his favorite judge on The X Factor is? A source close to Tomlinson said ‘Rose finally gets the hype. Wouldn’t be surprised if these two were spotted spending more time together.’ What do we think folks? Should we get the hashtag #tomlinrose ready?”

Harry freezes. He’s seen the pictures, and he’s read the headlines. But hearing these words out loud on the television has him frozen. A source close to Tomlinson said ‘Rose finally gets the hype.’ That’s what Harry told Louis at the end of the night. The only person around was Louis. Louis must have told someone, who then told the tabloids. The question is whether Louis wanted the tabloids to be told or not. Harry feels something bubbling in his stomach. Unsettling. 

He drops the bag of leftover nachos from work and hears the crunch from the chips. Niall turns around.

“Oh, H! Didn’t know you were home. You just missed the segment about you and Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I saw it.”

He starts playing the night over in his head. How Louis sought him out. How Louis never left his side. How by doing so he was able to be in all sorts of pictures with Harry, well, Dean. The box underneath his bed was proof of that. How Louis told him he expected to not like Dean Rose. But no, it didn’t make any sense. It couldn’t have been all for show. Because after the party when they went to The Alice House, they ditched the paparazzi. When Louis could have easily had them leave out front and be seen. And when they got to the restaurant, they entered through the kitchen. Louis wasn’t trying to get them seen there. The chef didn’t even know they were coming. No paparazzi were waiting for them when they arrived or left. In fact there had been no pictures from their dinner at all. 

But Harry said those exact words to Louis. He understands the hype. And now they’re being splashed around making gossip news. God, how could he have been so stupid?

“Harry, you okay?” Niall asks interrupting his thoughts. He’s picking up the dropped bag of nachos and placing it on the counter.

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

That night Harry has a restless night’s sleep. He doesn’t know why he cares so much about whether Louis was using Dean or not. In the long run, it doesn’t affect Harry at all. It’s not like Harry has any way to contact Louis directly. And it’s not like Louis even knows he wasn’t out with the actual Dean Rose. So what, if Louis and his team of people were only using Dean to get some publicity? Harry had a nice time. For one night only he got to have Louis to himself. He had Louis ask him to be his Valentine for god sake. They shared not one, but two kisses. Kisses Harry has seared into his memory. That has to be enough. 

 

The following week Harry receives a text message from Mel. It reads, 

Did you go out w/ him again and not tell me????

Attached is a picture of Louis and the actual Dean Rose. The two walking down the street holding Starbucks cups of coffee in their hands. 

Harry quickly replies,

No. That’s actually Dean Rose. 

Mel types back,

:( 

 

Harry hates that he can’t stop looking at the picture she sent. He’s dissecting their body language. How they’re walking just a little too far apart. Their strides aren’t matched up. They’re not even holding hands. Both of their eyes are hidden by a pair of sunglasses, neither are smiling. They honestly don’t seem remotely interested in each other.

Harry also hates how he feels the slightest bit of satisfaction in that.

 

Work the next day is fairly typical. The event ends a little early, so the staff of Lucy’s Catering is more than happy to wrap up and head home with an hour to spare. Harry gathers his things, says goodbye to Mel, and heads towards the tube.

When he arrives home, he opens the door to hear sounds of laughter. It’s Niall and someone else. When he hears it again, Harry knows, he knows that laugh. He enters the living room and sure enough sitting beside Niall on their musty old couch is-

“Louis.” Harry breathes. It’s not exactly a question, but he definitely has some.

Louis turns his head and meets Harry’s eyes. He stands up immediately and the laughter that was on his face only seconds ago is gone.

“Dean,” he starts, “Erm, I mean. Harry.”

Niall glances between the two of them and excuses himself. “I’m going to go...somewhere. Anywhere. Let you two sort this out.”

Neither take their eyes off of each other as Niall disappears.

Harry feels out of breath despite not having run. When the front door closes Harry asks, “What are you doing here?”

Louis laughs, and fixes his fringe. “I suppose I should explain.”

They both have a lot to explain. “We both should, really.” Harry says. 

Louis nods. “I’ll start. It was suggested by my manager I go to the Gucci show. Specifically because it would bring publicity due to your, erm, I mean Dean’s tweet. It was also encouraged by my team that I should seek Dean out. Be seen with him.”

Harry swallows. Louis had been using him. He feels sick, wondering if any of it had been real.

Louis continues, rounding the sofa and takes a step closer to Harry. There’s still a few paces between them, and right now Harry thinks that’s for the best.

“I figured there was no harm in that. In being seen with Dean. Especially since the rumors are that he’s a conceited asshole. I thought it’d be nice to have the tabloids make him eat his words. Have them say say I was his favorite judge. It- all seems a little silly hearing myself say it out loud. But this is my career. I told myself I was just looking out for it. But-”

Harry watches as Louis takes another step closer, and continues.

“But while I spent my evening with you, I just. I felt hopelessly charmed from the moment we met. I tried to tell myself it was all for show, but it wasn’t. I meant what I said, about you being kind, and funny, and- sweet. And when I asked you to go get food with me, it’s because I genuinely didn’t want the night to end. And when I kissed you, it’s because it was all I kept thinking about all through dinner. And now I, I think I know why you pulled away.”

Harry feels like someone’s punched him square in the gut. Like all the air’s been pushed out. He takes a deep breath to fill his lungs. “I’m Harry.” Is what he says. “Harry Styles.”

Louis smiles, “It’s nice to meet you.” He pauses, then asks, “Was any of it real?”

Harry swallows, nods. “Yes. I know I was lying about my name, but the person you met was all me. I wanted to tell you the truth, and at the end of the night I tried, but. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand, and thought if this was the only night I’ll ever get to have with you, I. I didn’t want to ruin it.”  
He takes a breath. “The only reason I even agreed to the charade was because the actual Dean Rose was puking up a storm in a back room and one of Gucci’s team members, Liam, asked me to do it. I didn’t want to, I thought it was mad! But for some reason I just couldn’t say no to Liam. Next thing I know all my hair is chopped off.”

Louis’ face alights with recognition. “You were the Birthday Boy outside of Bobby Fitzpatrick’s! The one with the glitter boots and matching tiara.”

Harry nods. Feeling much warmer all of a sudden. 

Louis takes another step closer, “Fuck. I knew it! On the cab ride home, there was just something so familiar about you. I couldn’t place it right then. It wasn’t until later, and even then, I wasn’t exactly sure. I wasn’t sure until my manager and Dean’s set up a Starbucks date.”

Harry waits for Louis to continue. He does.

“As soon as Dean and I met up, it felt wrong. There was no spark. No flirting. And he seemed to not have any recollection about being my Valentine. He knew he had been but not any of the details of the evening. He did a truly poor job at feigning interest. I was miserable the whole time, and I think it’s fair to say I wasn’t alone.”

This time, its Harry who takes a step closer. Nearly closing the gap, but not just yet.

“How did you know where to find me?” He asks.

“Dean mentioned a Liam Payne who worked with him and Gucci. I got my team to get his information. I called him, and am not entirely proud of that conversation. But eventually Liam explained to me he convinced you to go as Dean for the event. He told me you work for Lucy’s Catering, so after I calmed down, I decided I’d go there. I actually went there this evening, but Lucy informed me tonight’s event ended early. She, gave me your address. So I came here.”

Harry nods. “I pulled away that night because I felt awful lying to you. I pulled away because when you said ‘Dean,’ I remembered I was lying to you, and it just didn’t feel right to kiss you under false pretenses like that. Even if it had been all I could think about, too.”

Louis meets his eyes. “And now?”

Harry isn’t sure what he means, and says as such. “What about now?”

Louis makes it so their toes are touching. “If I kiss you now, will you pull away?”

Harry shakes his head, “Not until you tell me to.”

That is, apparently all Louis needs to hear before he’s pressing his lips to Harry’s. This time, Harry’s not surprised. He’s expecting it. Welcoming it. He immediately brings a hand to cup at Louis’ face, the other around his lower back. Their bodies come flush together, and Harry parts his lips, inviting Louis to deepen the kiss. Louis does. 

After a moment Louis breaks the kiss just long enough to ask, “So what did you wish for on your birthday?”

Harry chases Louis’ lips and says, “For something extraordinary.” 

They kiss and Louis makes a noise of approval. Harry pulls away for a moment and says, “Looks like I got my wish, because I met you.”

Louis smiles but says playfully. “Did I say you could stop kissing me?”

Harry rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and kisses Louis again. Who was he to deny such a request?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
